


Articles of War

by milgarion



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, sherlock's a bit of a softy really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milgarion/pseuds/milgarion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ve had them… all this time?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Articles of War

John paused. Suddenly stricken by the far too normal sight of Sherlock sans suit. Pyjama’s and t-shirt, robe slipping from one lean shoulder. A sight not seen for many years.

 

Perhaps it had been a mistake to say yes when he had whispered ‘Stay…’

 

But it wasn’t the surreal abstract collage of hopeful dreams overlaying the frayed remains of heartbreak that left him staring, the mundane pose of Sherlock idly making tea.

 

John stepped forward, fingers already out and reaching for the dull glimmer of metal around his neck, cheap and utilitarian, the very essence of function over form that made John’s stomach clench.

 

Sherlock tensed as John’s touch traced the neat row of chinks, hands flat against the worktop as shaking fingers slid beneath the chain, drifting, barely there against his skin as the chain was lifted, faint metallic clinks rattling together as it was pulled free from beneath his shirt.

 

"I thought I’d lost these." John breathed, warm metal cradled in his trembling palm as he angled the tabs towards the light, reading his own name from the dog tags.

 

He swallowed, throat suddenly tight as he let his eyes travel, ripping away from the dull metal to meet the darkened storm in Sherlock’s eyes. “You’ve had them… all this time?” 

 

A pause. A breath, and then, “I never took them off.” Barely breathed and almost silent. It was so much more than a confession. 

 

It was hesitance. And fear.

 

It was two years apart, reaching out, aching to return to someone doing everything they could to forget you.

 

John’s hand curled around the tags, aware of how Sherlock’s heart beat fast and heavy against the back of his hand even as he pulled at the chain, drawing them back to him and with it the man, tugging down as he pressed upwards and somewhere between they found each other. Whole again.


End file.
